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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421880">catherine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrxamitout/pseuds/oh-boleyn'>oh-boleyn (scrxamitout)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>infamy [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Six - Marlow/Moss</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Character Study, Gen, tw inside</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 09:36:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23421880</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrxamitout/pseuds/oh-boleyn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>How Catherine is seen from history, and what happens when she comes back.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>infamy [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1625791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>60</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>catherine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>First, as always, thank you so much Lexi because I couldn't have done this without you, and thank you so much for helping a lot!<br/>Second, third post in a week? Unbelieavable <br/>TW: I think this one only has as tw Catherine's story (kidnapping, dying in childbirth, etc) plus self deprication... if anyone thinks this one needs more tw please tell me</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine Parr will always be known as the queen who got away.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her breath is heavy, the air denser than it should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But it slowly gets better, to the point she opens her eyes and the light doesn’t hurt. Sitting, she can recognize Katherine Howard, the girl for who she was a lady-in-waiting. Anna of Cleves is also sitting, a lost expression on her face. A woman with blonde hair that makes her think of the various portraits she saw in the palace. Just by counting the people in the room, she can easily assume who the rest of them are.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, she was the last of them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine’s father died when she was five years old and so her education was left to her mother, who educated Catherine to a high standard. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine never loved moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually she got too attached to a place, and changes were definitely not her favourite thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Moving centuries felt like a torture – not that she would ever admit it out loud.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their new house was small, smaller than any castle she ever lived in. She had to share a bedroom with her godmother with whom she never had a relationship, and the third queen, mother of the kid she saw getting the crown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes at night the house made her think of Snape Castle. Of nights fearing for her life. Being the survivor didn’t mean her life was any easier. Those nights she preferred to avoid sleeping in case the faces of John and Margaret might appear in her dreams.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she would just scroll through articles and articles on her phone, trying to understand any actual device that was out to the public, or what did </span>
  <em>
    <span>spot on </span>
  </em>
  <span>meant. At least being productive made her feel less useless. After years of new information missed, she could really use new research.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Sometimes alternatively spelled Katherine, Katheryn, Kateryn or Katharine.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine can’t help but feel powerless when thinking about Katherine Howard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was just a child. A teen, who Catherine couldn’t save. Her mind didn’t work fast enough to help the girl, who died such a tragic, grotesque death, leaving Parr her place as queen. Maybe if Parr was smart enough, she could’ve done something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But she wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She loved to lie, to make everyone believe her, but deep down she knew nothing more than that, a lie. An elaborated act that took years to construct. A character, a fake line, an improvised scene that went day after day. Because Catherine didn’t think of herself as intelligent, just a very good actress, fooling everyone into thinking she was smart.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wished it was true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead she had to live with the guilt of knowing what she did. She was not the hero, not the survivor, not the scholar queen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine Parr was a fool who couldn’t save Howard, nor Margaret, nor Elizabeth, nor Lady Jane Grey. Her hands were filled with the blood and tears of all the girls at her care; she never had the chance to rescue, instead just assisting to their downfall. And her mind won’t stop her from repeating the names time and time again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine was known for her love of learning and for her fluency in languages such as Latin, French and Italian.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you want to know?” The last queen questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her godmother had been moving the whole night, buzzing around her. It was almost becoming annoying, except that there was a warmness, an incapability of getting mad knowing how close her mother and the woman once were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What makes you think I want to know something?” Aragon retorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You seem nervous, if you want to know something just ask ahead. I won’t get mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She internally prays for Aragon not to ask her something about Spanish, or worse, Latin or Italian. Languages felt more complicated and overwhelming in the twenty-first century, featuring strange mixes between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Apparently, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Spanglish </span>
  </em>
  <span>was a thing.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She is not sure if any other question would be good, at all. Catherine is supposed to know all the answers, to be educated, to distinguish, to be useful. Since arriving in this century her mind has been confused, mixing up languages and dates. Blocked, broken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Curiosity is not such a good trait.” The older woman speaks, almost robotically, just repeating words she probably heard time and time again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine would be lying if she said that was the first time she heard those words. Her curiosity was not exactly an attribute in her past life, but she maintained it through the end of her days, always looking forward to learning. A craving for intelligence heavier than the one for safety.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, really.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened when I died?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The question comes out quickly, making Parr hold a breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you died…” She starts, trying to remember only important details. “Anne and Henry were still married, but she lost the pregnancy. She had three miscarriages. You can imagine how Henry reacted.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine nods, aware of Anne’s thick scar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jane went next. I can’t remember a lot from her reign, for it was short and I wasn’t at court at the time,” she winces, trying not to show her stiffness when talking about it, “Henry asked for her to be painted in every family portrait, even after she died. He really tried to secure the line of succession for Edward, what a shame he died so young. In his attempts to have another son, Henry married Anna. She wasn’t bad, just probably a lot for him to handle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She seems like a lot.” Catherine speaks, judging tone in her voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that, she is actually sweet. Henry couldn’t kill her, politics involved, so they settled for an annulment. Then Katherine came. She was naïve, a child. I was a lady-in-waiting for her, and it is true she might have been childish, but she was –is, I suppose– a good person.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like all of them know more than me,” Aragon explains, “but I don’t want to read about them, it’s like invading their privacy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did. Most sources are from after we died, none of them completely true.” Catherine admits. “We should be able to tell our story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine is known for reuniting Henry’s children with their father and bringing them back to court. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The opening night for the show is nerve-wracking to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna almost cursed at Catherine because, after all, it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> idea. Parr stays silent, knowing that the fourth queen is nervous to her very core. She also knows that the show </span>
  <em>
    <span>has</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be done.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They could only live off doing interviews for some time. She learnt that the internet worked in mysterious ways, and nothing stayed new for too long. People grew tired, and interviews were less and less often.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after the play, it feels right. Even her godmother is smiling, her own reluctance to create the play long forgotten. People cheer around them, the band still firm on their spots but clapping their hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment it feels good to be in the spotlight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine was an attractive and intelligent woman, who combined the intelligence and wit of Anne Boleyn with the prudence and diplomacy of Catherine of Aragon.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anne, wake up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Boleyn opens her eyes. Her hands were still holding her phone. That little technological device that holds so much information about everything. Catherine wonders what she was doing, what could have been so important that she didn’t go to bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You should go to your room, Kat and Anna might be waiting for you.” She says with a soft voice, trying not to wake anyone else in the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The second queen has big, bright green eyes. There is a sparkle of wit that Catherine can’t shake her head off. She looks like Elizabeth, the same curiosity shining through. The way she carries herself, as if she still was the queen. The secrecy, how every word holds another meaning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anne stood up, going to her bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight Anne.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Night, Parr.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Elizabeth is dead, and they aren’t. Catherine never had a chance to amend their problems, instead she died. Never getting to see Elizabeth as queen was going to be something she would always regret.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The internet said she was a great queen, and it didn’t surprise Parr at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Elizabeth was won over by Catherine’s warmth and intelligence.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine Parr was never a protagonist, and she prided herself on it. Being a writer was more important to her. Narrators lived long enough to tell the heroes stories. She was observant. Silent, but good at knowing all the gossip. Being invisible was an advantage, it could keep you alive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(That is if you didn’t die because of childbirth, obviously.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even in the play, she made it known. Her make-up in earthly tones, and she wears a blue costume. Blue was serene, trying not to be noticed. She didn’t talk as much as the other queens, relegating her story just to her last verses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine Parr was a narrator, not a protagonist, and she was aware of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was why, when watching the queens, she felt so inclined to give them as much attention as she could. Catherine wouldn’t write their stories, that would be not okay if she tried to keep the fake peace that reigned the house, but she could surely find striking inspiration at any moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She discovered that none of them were having the best time in their new lives. They didn’t treat it as a brand-new chance to be happy, instead they were bonded to the past, to their own time. It felt like whatever brought them back just did it so they could act as robots half of the time, not trusting each other to talk seriously for more than a couple of minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine wonders if the other queens also notice how much she is struggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>However, the quick-thinking Catherine Parr managed to save her head by pleading with Henry and persuading him that she had only argued with him in an attempt to help him forget about the pain caused by his leg ulcer and to learn from him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Henry forgave her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They move. Again. She knows it’s for the better, but she can’t help feeling weirded out by the new house. At least it allows them each to have a room of their own, a privacy she certainly craved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes the basement, which is the colder room in the house. It feels comfortable, after all the years of living in palaces makes you feel that way about cold, big rooms. Her bed, even if it is double size, doesn’t fill more than a quarter of the room, leaving her space for a big desk and a bookshelf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine counts all the books once before starting packing, twice after saving them and another time as soon as she arrives. The feeling that she probably lost one doesn’t disappear, even if she doesn’t know what book she lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Maybe because most of </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> books are destroyed after five hundred years of not caring for them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like those books are useful anymore.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>According to Foxe, she began “frankly to debate with the king touching religion, and therein flatly to discover herself; oftentimes wishing, exhorting, and persuading the king.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Doing research is exhausting to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bright white screen makes her eyes ache after watching it for a while, and her hands don’t work quickly on the keyboard. She can’t even write as fast as she could in her old life, her letters clumsy and often having problems with gripping the new pens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What makes it the worst, is that she feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span> when trying to do it. Languages vary when time progresses, that much she always knew, but trying to read an article sometimes becomes impossible, with words such as </span>
  <em>
    <span>quantum entanglement </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Newtonian physics.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It infuriates her, not being able to understand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once upon a time she knew it all, about God, history, languages. But now it felt as if her brain just stopped working. Everything went faster than she could, leaving her behind, useless to a new world into which she never asked to be brought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sometimes she hates modernism and its complexity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, Catherine puts on an act every day, talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>penicillin </span>
  </em>
  <span>and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ibuprofen</span>
  </em>
  <span>, explaining history to Anna and focusing on appearing smart. Because, after all, that was all she ever knew. All she ever had was owned for being smart, to know how to play a King’s game, and getting away with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If she wasn’t smart, she was nothing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine certainly believed herself to be in danger and, had she not acted decisively, it is likely that Henry would have allowed her to be arrested and, perhaps, executed.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cathy, por favor, ayúdame con esto.” Her godmother asks, while going through some files. “I know you were good at Spanish.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr holds a breath. She once could speak it fluently, but lately it’s pained her into having problems with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was reading this book, and wondered if </span>
  <em>
    <span>della</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>del</span>
  </em>
  <span> were still being used? Or is it old Spanish?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine didn’t know the answer at all. How was she supposed to? If she could barely understand it. She wanted to scream, to explain that she had no actual clue. She wanted to pull away her façade of being smart and just admitting that it was too hard for her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s safer to use </span>
  <em>
    <span>de la</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>contracción.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Cathy says, praying to be right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gracias querida.” Aragon winks at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr was really hoping she was right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine Parr - The Scholar Queen.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine was a writer, she even went as far as publishing books under her name, the name of a queen, in a patriarchal society.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine Parr was a writer because it was all she had ever done. Every reason why she wanted to be remembered was because she was a writer. She didn’t care about her husbands, not even Thomas who she truly thought she loved. She didn’t want to be remembered as a queen, only as a writer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(She sometimes thought that if being a writer was enough for her, in that case, she would’ve lived longer, but of course she needed to have a man in her life.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Talking about her past as a writer gave her the peace of mind she didn’t have for standing behind men her whole life.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Behind a great man, there is always a great woman.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Except that she was behind John Neville, a distant catholic cousin who’s actions ended up with her being kidnapped; Henry the VIII, an egomaniac poor excuse of king who got as far as killing two of his wives (almost her killed too); and last but not least, Thomas Seymour, a power starved moron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was she just like them? Was she the only one guilty of her past life? An egomaniac who couldn’t save Katherine Howard? A power-starved former queen who let harm come to her most loved stepdaughter? Or just a moron who couldn’t protect anyone, not even herself?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine was a writer, because thinking about her own mistakes was harder than just doing what she always did, telling other people’s ones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine Parr was in fact the cleverest and most passionate of Henry VIII's six wives, says Derek Wilson.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine wasn’t a big fan of the rain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She didn’t mind it, and enjoyed the sounds of the water drops when she was writing, but being in closed spaces sometimes became too much, too claustrophobic. She loved walking just a little every day, going to the theatre in the afternoon or to the grocery shop, but with the weather it wasn’t possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Usually on days like that she would just get herself isolated from the queens, her anxiety building up as she tried to behave and not explode. Try to pass as if she doesn’t even exist, guarding her feelings and nerves to herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told the queens she would be writing in her room, and to just call her when it was time to eat. No one checked up on her. No one gave her tea, or coffee. Even when the clock hit the time for dinner –she had been staring at it for the last five minutes, hyper aware of the time being–, they called her up three minutes and fifty-two seconds later than what she would have liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In her will, dated 23 March 1545, Margaret stated that she was unable to render Catherine sufficient thanks 'for the godly education and tender love and bountiful goodness which I have evermore found in her Highness'.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It feels harder on her than the rest of the queens. The feeling of not belonging, of not understanding. Even with Jane their relationship is not close — not that it can be, the third queen always storming off or barely talking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She feels like an outsider, not knowing where she is standing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine has always been cordial, but there’s a thought in the back of her mind that says that it is only out of duty. Of an old debt to her mother, and not real love. Even after long talks over tea, and trips to the mall, Cathy feels that their relationship is still empty. Out of place, fake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr can’t help but dream about feeling loved again, truly loved, something that she has not known for a long time. But it scares her, Margaret ended up dying young, Elizabeth had to suffer, Jane Grey had a horrible death.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she didn’t need their love, because each time someone loved her, they ended up dead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine enjoyed a close relationship with Henry's three children and was personally involved in the education of Elizabeth I and Edward VI.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She enters the kitchen, just to see Anne and Anna with an apple pie in the middle of the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want pie.” She states.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Magic word?” Anne teases her, a smirk on her lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Je t'aime beau cul.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Boleyn laughs, in a way that it makes her stomach turn. It’s mocking, clearly not laughing </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> Catherine, but rather </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? What did I say wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You pronounced the last part wrong, it’s</span>
  <em>
    <span> beaucoup</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no </span>
  <em>
    <span>beau cul.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine can feel her face turning red, almost burning. Of course, she was going to mess up pronunciation after years without trying. Now Anne was mocking her, and she felt ridiculed, uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why is it so funny?” Anna interrupts, maybe picking up the humiliating situation, “she just messed up pronunciation, it’s not that bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Instead of saying ‘I love you so much’ she said “I love you, nice ass’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr chuckles painfully, dreading Anna’s giggling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mon petit chou.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Anne grabs a plate and settles a slice of the pie. “A sweet, for a sweetheart.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She winks an eye to Parr, easing the air around the writer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The dowager queen promised to provide education for her.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine tries to get it out, to calm herself down after a nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She takes some paper and a pen, even though it feels uncomfortable in her hand, and tries to write about it. Catherine forces the memories on her brain. Attempts to remember every detail, the face of fear Margaret held, frustrating not to confuse it with the face of the girl dying. Parr thinks of John, of the aggressive men he became.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she writes messy and clumsy letters, focusing only on what she has to say and not how she says it. Working hard distracts her for almost the whole night, finishing with a good amount of paper in possession, and her hand smeared with ink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine considers reading it, but ultimately decides against it, walking to the kitchen as fast as she can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She lets it burn, page by page, word by word. Parr lets it burn as if she never cared for it, something so personal that it won’t be good for even her to read. She knows that the queens will ask the next day, but she can’t help herself to care. She lets it burn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>She loved fine clothes, jewels and intelligent company.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine wishes she had a real idea of when to stop, but apparently, she wasn’t born with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the time, the queens won’t shush her, instead acting as if they hear what she has to say. Acting being the key word. Once Cathy was so into her monologue, she would discover how uninterested her eyes looked, wandering around the room and just humming in response instead of talking actual real words. In that moment she would try to cut herself short, wrap the idea quicker than expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anna would try to keep up, being amicable enough, but the inadequacy was something the survivor couldn’t shake off. Even when the fourth queen tries to talk, Cathy will already anticipate the truth. She pitied her, knowing how her life was and ended, and it was just a way to show it. She pushed Anna away, not telling her any weird facts. She didn’t want to be a poor fool.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>In 1543, she published her first book, Psalms or Prayers, anonymously.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just… so afraid to talk sometimes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine thought that, but the words didn’t come out of her mouth, but rather from Boleyn’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got killed for that, and I can’t help it. I feel like I need to control everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t.” Parr confirms. “Also, you can’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can control yourself, with whom you hang out, you can control things such as the tone of your words, but if someone wants to hate you, they will. You can’t control nature, not yours, nor from others.” Catherine ponders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wishes that she could follow her own advice, but it’s hard. That doesn’t mean that Catherine is not hoping for Anne to do so, to be happier than she is. Maybe that if she can help the woman, Parr can redeem herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, I think I needed to hear it.” The green-eyed talks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I’m here for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She brushes off the guilt of being egoistic that tries to settle on her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> (…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>According to biographer Linda Porter, the story that as a child, Catherine could not tolerate sewing and often said to her mother "my hands are ordained to touch crowns and sceptres, not spindles and needles" is almost certainly apocryphal.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine wants to give up writing, knowing that it doesn’t feel the same anymore. Everything is too personal, too old, too weird. Old languages long forgotten mixing with new ones, words that haven’t existed before now complicated to use.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently, Shakespeare by himself invented around a thousand seven hundred words. Just by one person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The idea of the new vocabulary overwhelms her mind. So much she doesn’t know and is not sure if she ever will. But a part of her longs for it, for the feeling of release that writing could sometimes bring. Catherine has faith about being able to be valuable, to tell stories, to do good, to give something to the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr decides to just take her time, to write as best as she can. She can’t do more than her best.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Between October 1536 and April 1537, Catherine lived alone in fear with her step-children, struggling to survive.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you okay, Catherine?” Kat asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was her third attempt at it. Nothing she wrote felt right. There was just so much missed, so much to do. She couldn’t focus on the paragraphs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, just can’t seem to get this done.” She straightens her spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Did always sitting hurt as much?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it about?” The teenager wonders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just about Spain history, and the colonies.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I read?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. I will make tea.” Parr handles the computer to the girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stretches her spine and goes around preparing the drink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine is not sure if she would let any other queen read what she wrote. Katherine is different, had always been. Even in her time as queen, even when it all happened. She was smart, but not outspoken. Polite yet truthful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is good, really.” Howard says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can sense a “but”.” Catherine laughs anxiously, dreading the critic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are only taking one side; you should know how Spain sent a lot of people from the church on missions to re-educate the natives. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Las misiones Jesuitas.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Politics and religion were more connected than what this made it look like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s… Very true.” She feels bad about not emphasising it as much but brushes it off for the sake of the conversation. “I didn’t know you were interested in history. It’s great,” she insists when Katherine looks at her with big eyes, “if you ever want to work together, you know where to find me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Her second book was a success and widely praised.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Organizing was never her favourite thing to do. She loved to be messy, scattered paper all around her. Pens out, in the most unexpected places, just in case creativity strikes unexpectedly. The way her manuscripts could look so good, better now that she gave herself time to practice her letters surprised when people saw the chaos in the one she wrote.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane was the opposite, neat, having high expectations of finding whatever she left in the place she left it. She was exigent, hard on herself to be organized, in places where Catherine couldn’t care less. That was until everything became way too much and she had to just clean a little. Parr admired Jane, appreciated how much she did, how smart and balanced she had learned to become.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With her papers settled, her pens saved, she gives a look at her room. It feels quiet, harmonized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The popular myth that Catherine Parr acted more as her husband's nurse than his wife was born in the 19th century from the work of Victorian moralist and proto-feminist, Agnes Strickland.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone knocks the door to her room twice, and Catherine gets surprised. Almost nobody came to her room, it being almost the farthest one from the rest of the queens. She also never gave any indication of having nightmares like Katherine, so no one would check on her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come in!” She says, despite her wonder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there.” Aragon greets. “I just got Kat to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Another nightmare?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but those are getting better, I think. Therapy is helping.” She explains. “But I wanted to check on you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine makes room for her in the bed, which she quickly understands. The divorcee sits in the bed, and the survivor wraps herself, getting comfortable in the hug. It’s familiar, an old memory from court in a past life, but a good one. A peaceful, tranquil moment before knowing better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hermosa</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” The first queen squeezes her goddaughter. “What’s going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just… so tired.” She confesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t precisely know of what she is tired. The intrusive thoughts of hundreds of years, Thomas and how she was a fool. Of hiding her silliness, trying to be better, always better, but never reaching an end. She is tired of feeling bad, of feeling locked into her own expectations. She feels tired of trying to be happier, to be smarter, to be liked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there are so many feelings that she just breaks, sobbing into her namesake’s arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even geniuses need sleep, </span>
  <em>
    <span>amor</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t call me that.” Cathy bickers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call you what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A genius. I’m not.” She cries. “I want to be dumb; I want to stop overthinking for a second. I’m not smart, I promise you I’m not but please stop expecting things from me I can’t be a disappointment.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mi vida</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aragon makes a pattern on her back, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t precisely work, instead she just continues sobbing, letting lots of tears that she has saved for such a long time flow freely. She sniffles out of pure frustration, of having so many thoughts that she can’t even process them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you, so much.” She affirms. “You have literally blown me away. I know I might not say a lot, but you were always special, since you were little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t say that, I don’t want to be.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you are, and you have surpassed all my expectations, always. You can breathe now; you get to take a break.” She kisses her forehead. “I love you, and would still love you if you are the smartest person in the world or the stupidest. You are so smart, you don’t have to always stick out, or be good at everything. You deserve to just fool around sometimes, and that won’t change who you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Cathy collects the courage to look her in the eyes, she can swear that there’s a sparkle of pure love and affection in the eyes of her godmother. A sparkle directed at her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Biographers have described her as strong-willed and outspoken, physically desirable, susceptible (like Queen Elizabeth) to roguish charm and even willing to resort to obscene language if the occasion suited.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t know how, but something in the air feels lighter, it feels better. Life becomes easier, the house now slowly becoming a home, with the six queens slowly getting better. Catherine can notice how much cooler it turns out to be once they started learning more about each other, understanding something no one else would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(After all, nobody else was a five hundred years old reincarnated Tudor queen.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Parr wishes for it to mean that she could live her life relaxed, joyful. But instead she cries every time she notices how lucky she was, the guilt of knowing that she hurt so many people she cared for. A heavy backpack she won’t ever be able to get out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She doesn’t think that she deserves forgiveness for her acts. And it pains her, hoping for a reality where she was good, for one where she was just the survivor, to one not full with the tragedy her life was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each time she says </span>
  <em>
    <span>gold star for Cathy Parr</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she feels numb. With a bit of luck, she convinced the audience she merits it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Catherine's good sense, moral rectitude, compassion, firm religious commitment and strong sense of loyalty and devotion have earned her many admirers among historians.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a silence, and for a moment they stay like that. But the survivor speaks up: “Did you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Anne states easily. “Or no. I probably didn’t, and he most certainly didn’t either, but I think we both believed we did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you love him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be careful, your neck is quite delicate… I don’t think it would be hard to cut with a sword.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine tries to mask her thoughts, releasing a faint “Funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anne probably doesn’t know; she is aware of it. With all the fake comments about the second queen that were a lie, she had decided to not look for much information about her fellow queens, and Catherine was not willing to tell her about how her life nearly ended. It felt selfish, it was just a close call, not a real one like Anne’s or Katherine’s. Still, the idea of her head being amputated from her body followed her, like the ghost of a broken promise. The thought of her life in danger of ending still at the back of her mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did she love me?” Anne asks, surprising Parr.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she did.” Catherine waits for a moment, before continuing. “I’m sorry for what I did to her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With those words she breaks down, trying to hide her tears. She has no right to cry for her own wicked acts, to be comforted by Anne, but that’s what is happening now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine.” Boleyn says, her voice just above a whisper. “I forgive you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>She </span>
  </em>
  <span>forgave you. We were different people back then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But I did it. No matter what you say, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>did </span>
  <em>
    <span>it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I wasn’t an angel either. I acted the wrong way because of my fears. To gain and maintain power. I’m not proud of it,” her eyes, that until that moment were lost, now staring intensely Catherine, “but if you keep living in the past you can’t become a better person in the future.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Parr is usually portrayed in cinema and television by actresses who are much older than the queen, who was in her early 30s when she was Henry's wife and was about 36 years old at the time of her death.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>(…)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine wished her story was better, for it to have a happy ending. To say that she married Thomas after Henry, and that it was like a dream, that they had children and grandchildren, grew old together and she was loved until the end of her days. She longed to say that she could remember her baby's face, or her first steps or words. Desires to tell everyone that she taught her everything she knew. But in reality, it was not true.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Catherine Parr never had her happily ever after like a queen from a children’s book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The survivor indeed never had her happy ending, not even when coming back to the modern times. She still put more pressure on herself than what she should've. Tried to always be trusted, to always be useful and to help her everyone. Pushed herself to the edge, trying to be the best version of herself. Got more stressed than necessary, stayed up sometimes too late for her liking, drank more tea and coffee than she should’ve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her life became a bittersweet one, a balance found between her tragic story, the guilt she would always feel, and the chance of a new beginning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Some days were happier than others, some talks were lighter. Freedom and restriction battling over, but giving her enough cheerfulness to go back when things got harder. Working with Katherine over the history they both knew and missed, discussing the newest scientific discoveries with Anna and Jane, grabbing lunch with Anne and tea with Aragon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her life was not happy, but it was relaxed. It gave her the chance to just let herself feel emotions, the good, the bad. To write without deadlines. To be calm, to live this new opportunity fully. To learn about herself, to be the protagonist of her own story.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be loved.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>as always comments and kudos are appreciated, if someone wants me to upload one of my stories please tell me, send me prompts to my tumblr lessix and have a great day!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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